Page 152 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part Two

“I’m so?—”

I kiss a line down to her belly button, and she sucks in a breathy chuckle when I stick my tongue in there.

“—so, so sorry I wasn’t there, baby.” I faceplant into her soft stomach, even softer now after having grown life in there.

Blindly, I pull down her shorts, discovering she’s not wearing any underwear. Her neatly trimmed patch points toward the treasure hidden between her lower lips, but I don’t go there. Instead, I trace a finger along the raised scar over her womb.

“A c-section,” I say, remembering that I read this fact weeks ago when investigating the twins’ birth. It’s different seeing the evidence in front of me. I run my finger along the raised line, and Shae tenses with a small giggle.

I look at her.

“Ticklish?”

“It doesn’t exactly tickle,” she says. “I only have feeling back in some spots along the scar, so it feels odd. It’s normal, from what I understand from my doctor.”

I nod, placing small kisses along the line.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there, Sweetness. I’m sorry you had to go through surgery and recovery alone. I’m sorry for all of it.” From my place between her thighs, I look up at the love of my life, and she puts her small palm on my cheek.

There’s so much in her expression, and I’m sure I reflect the same. It’s a lot—a lot of emotion and guilt and hope.

Keeping my eyes locked on hers, I spread her legs, breathing in deep to catch her unique scent I’ve missed for years.

Overwhelmed. Overpowered.

Overjoyed.

Hopeful.

I latch on to her button, drawing the flesh into my mouth with a delicate suck; her low, guttural moan is like a symphony to my ears. I savor her taste, taking my time to draw out her pleasure.

Even after years apart, I know her body, and I know how to take her higher and higher.

“Fuck, Storm,” she slurs, one hand on my head and the other fisting the sheets.

“I want you to come on my tongue the first time,” I say when I pull back, slowly sliding one finger and then another into her hot, tight sheath.

When I curl my fingers up and draw her clit back between my lips, she bucks, chasing her release without shame or hesitation.

That’s it, baby. Take it. Make it feel good.

“Storm, Storm,Storm!” Her chant rises with each word as I follow my memories on how to pleasure her, bringing her to the brink. Soon after, her thighs start to tremble, her pussy contracts around my fingers, and I feel like a god as she reaches her peak.

She shouts and shudders, and I’m like granite in my boxers, leaking against the fabric.

“Storm,” she pants, and I kiss my way back up her body, feeling all her emotions as I reach her tearstained face.

“Sweetness,” I rasp, and she brings our lips together. I get drunk on her, on us.

“I want you, Storm,” she says, and I nod, putting my forehead to hers.

“I don’t have any condoms,” I reply. I knew this when I brought her in here, and despite my claims on the plane, I won’t force her to do anything she doesn’t want to do, especially when it comes to our intimacy.

“You gave me your results. I know you saw mine,” she says, a small chuckle following the words.

“What are you saying, Sweetness?” I don’t have any room to fuck anything up with her.

“I’m saying…I don’t want anything to come between us, Storm.” I search her face after her declaration, knowing she means what she says. “I don’t know how we’ll make this…whatever this is, work, but I know I want to try.”